


Never to Heaven Go

by Dragonwithatale



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Canon Compliant, Flashbacks, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post 13x23, Rape Aftermath, dash of angst, grace rape, i don't have a better word for it, slight mindbreak, some ptsd, sorry dean, that would be the rape part, that's it I've gone to the dark side, wing kink - except that's not consensual either
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-14 08:47:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15385107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonwithatale/pseuds/Dragonwithatale
Summary: Castiel returns to the church where Lucifer died, where Dean was lost.  He needs to see for himself that it's over.But it's not.He really shouldn't miss Dean so loudly.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "My words fly up, my thoughts remain below:   
> Words without thoughts never to heaven go."
> 
> \- Hamlet (III, iii, 100-103)

It’s almost midnight when Cas opens the door to the church; it’s dark and still inside and the silence is deafening as he crosses the floor to stand in front of the scorch marks.  He can taste the fading grace from the final battle, sharp and brittle; he can smell the char of Lucifer’s wings, acrid and final.

Cas had told Sam that he needed to see where Lucifer died for himself, and Sam had nodded quietly, a world of understanding written on his face that Cas will never stop feeling responsible for.  But Cas only stands there for a moment, hand outstretched to feel the few remaining wisps of grace, before he turns away. He doesn’t feel relieved, just hollowed out and more tired than he’s been in a thousand years.  The Devil is dead and it still isn’t over. There’s nothing here.

How fitting that a crumbling ruin of abandoned faith is where hope went to die.

He closes his eyes and exhales slowly.  He isn’t sure what he expected. Right now he just wants Dean back so much it hurts.

The unmistakable sound of angel wings fills the silence, and Dean - no not Dean, just looks like him - is standing uncomfortably close.  Cas stiffens, letting his sword fall into his hand. 

“I’m surprised in you, Castiel.”  Michael’s voice from Dean’s mouth sounds wrong.  “Praying to a human?”

“Get out of him.”  Cas’ heart is beating wildly.  There aren’t any good options; he can’t win a fight and he can’t outrun an archangel, not with shredded wings.

Michael smirks.  “Or what? You gonna challenge me, little seraph?”    


“If I have to.”  Cas shifts backwards, bringing the tip of his blade up.

“I do not understand you, Cas.”  Michael paces to the side, circling, and Cas turns to follow.  “Any universe, you’re always willing to leave your place. Don’t you miss the song of other angels around you?  Knowing what your purpose is?”

“Not really.”  He’s got to fight; he’s got to try anyways.

Cas swings, but Michael is inside of his guard, breaking his hold on his blade and sending him spinning across the room before he can think.  He skids to a stop, and then Michael is straddling his hips, pinning his hands easily to the ground next to his head. 

Giant wings unfurl from over Michael's shoulders, muted grey feathers that blot out the world.  They settle over Cas, pinning his wings to the ground, covering him completely. Cas bucks, trying to throw Michael off, pulling to free his hands, screaming. Eventually he stills, breath coming in tight gasps and dread sinking into his bones.  Tears burn in his eyes as Michael leans forward.

“You were made to serve Heaven, Cas,” Michael murmurs in his ear.  “To serve me.” Icy grace wraps around his vessel and the true form beneath; it presses into him, seeking entrance.    


“Let me in.  You know you want this.”  Tears fall from Cas’ eyes as grace slips under his skin, pushing deep until it finds his center.  Michael’s grace stabs into the tangle of light that is Cas, fills him, and Cas screams and screams as it burrows deeper, it won’t stop it _hurts_.  Michael leans down and kisses him, almost gently, and grace burns silver across his lips and eyes and Cas _sees_ —

_ Sees angels dying again and again — _

_ Sees Anna under a streetlamp, hears himself begging her to give him orders — _

_ Sees himself bowing in front of heaven’s throne — _

“No,” he rasps, shaking his head.  “Never again.”

Michael frowns and releases his grip and reaches up to touch Cas’ forehead, and it’s driving into him it’s burrowing he hears a drill no not again  _ no _ .  

With a shuddering exhale, Cas goes limp.  His body won’t answer.  He’s numb all over, he tries to claw at Michael and his fingers just twitch.  He can’t fight he can’t breathe he can’t scream, there’s a weight on his chest and he can’t move.

“That’s it.”  Michael sits back, wings flaring to either side.  One hand slides down to press against his erection, stroking himself once through the cloth with a low groan.  Michael stands and reaches down, flipping Cas easily so he’s laying sprawled on his stomach. The tile floor is cool against Cas’ cheek.

There’s the sound of tearing cloth and Cas feels cold air on his back and legs and ass.  The sound of his own heartbeat is deafening in his ears. Michael’s grace drives into him again and he whimpers softly, clawing weakly at the floor.

“You will worship me, Castiel.”  Cas hears the soft slide of a zipper.  Michael nudges his legs apart and kneels between them, leaning forward to trace more burning grace down Cas’ spine.  Michael’s wings envelop him, heavy and suffocating, holding his tattered feathers to the floor, and something hot and hard rubs against his lower back, slots into the crack of his ass as Michael rocks above him, presses against his entrance.

“You were made for this.”  Michael’s cock slides inside of him, filling him, stretching him too far it  _ hurts _ .  Something’s torn, he thinks dizzily.  Michael pulls out until the head of his cock is just catching on Cas’ rim and rolls his hips leisurely forward, sliding deeper.  He builds pace slowly and the grace tangled up in Cas’ core throbs in time, biting into him. It’s cutting away at his mind, he can feel pieces slipping away and he clutches at them, pulling futilely at his grace is flayed.

He’s suffocating.  Why can’t he scream?

Why…

_ Cas _ falls away like shredded mist and an angel starts whispering in broken Enochian.   _ Oh glorious in heaven above, victorious, oh praise… _

“That’s right.”  Hands are moving him, pulling him upright to lean back on a broad chest, hands that hold him up and reach down to touch him and he gasps.  His wings spread wide as he’s cradled, trembling as the touch turns to strokes and his vessel  _ what’s a vessel  _ responds, growing hard.  Fingers lay lightly against his throat tilting his head towards the dark above, and the voice joins him, soft in his ear, helping him remember the words  _ why can’t he remember _ .

Something moves inside him, hard heat rolling up deep inside him him and frozen light twining beneath his skin.  He chokes, heart pounding but the voice tells him it’s fine, he wanted this, he’s where he belongs. The hand keeps stroking, never changing even as his skin grows hot and he starts jerking his hips, chasing the touch.  Praises fall brokenly from his lips, words he doesn’t understand, and the voice behind him is telling him he’s good, so good.

The pain/pleasure that’s been building inside pushes over the edge and he spasms, hot liquid bubbling out onto the hand stroking him and the voice groans and he’s let go.  He crumples to the floor. There’s something sticky between his legs, _what is_ —

“Do you know who I am?” the voice asks.

He turns sluggishly towards the voice, it’s so hard to move.  He licks cracked lips.

“… Dean?”

A hand reaches towards him, glowing fierce, and he _screams_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two pov's mean twice the angst!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For in that sleep of death what dreams may come...
> 
> (Hamlet, III, i, 78)

Dean’s been screaming for days,  _ days _ , watching in growing rage as Michael sets about building his new world.  Dean knows he can eject him, he knows how, but every time he dives towards the words Michael cuts him away and he forgets what words even are.

Which fucking sucks, that’s not even playing fair.  Dick.

Michael’s out stretching his wings, exploring his new territory when they hear it.  Really, Dean feels it first, this low ache like half his body’s missing, and then he hears Cas’ voice saying his name like a prayer and Michael’s standing in a dark room, it’s a church, that’s —

The world goes away for a bit.  Dean is in his room listening to Zepp, making little notes on a scrap piece of paper.  He can fit three more songs onto the tape if he’s careful, and he wants it to be just right.

_ No no no — _

“ _ Cas _ ,” he breathes.  His heart sinks and Christ, he’s gonna be sick, Cas is screaming and Michael, _ fucking Michael _ .  “Get ou-“ He chokes on nothing, gropes blindly at the the  _ the bed it’s a bed _ he’s sitting on his bed and Traveling Riverside Blues is coming through his headphones.  He can fit three more songs if he’s careful, and he wants it to be just right.

There’s a noise under the track that’s grating against his nerves, a rhythmic thumping.  He stops the tape in annoyance but it’s still there so he gets up to check the door. Nothin out there, but damn his pants feel tight all of a sudden.  He closes the door and adjusts himself and maybe he groans a little, it’s just been a while okay. Not like a little one on one time would hurt right now, nobody’s awake.  He undoes his belt and fly, leaning there against the door, and lets his cock bob free. His hands feel good, stroking himself, cupping his balls, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t thinking about blue eyes and pink lips wrapping around his length and how low Cas moans when he’s enjoying something.

He should really lie down and make the most of this but fuck the image of Cas on his knees swallowing him down, Dean running his fingers through that wild hair, Cas’ hands on his hips pinning him to the door, it’s so good.  Dean’s jerking his hips desperately into his hand, panting,  _ that’s it Cas just like that, so good _

Dean’s coming, spilling all over his fist and his stomach and the world flickers out and —

_ He’s cradling Cas but it’s not him and Cas is panting, crying as Dean drives up into him, begging in Enochian as Dean’s hand flies over Cas’ cock.  He’s whispering things into Cas’ ear, telling him he’s good, and there’s something wrong because he can see Cas, see this breathtaking tangle of light and it’s wrong it’s wrong it’s broken it’s been cut to ribbons oh God who would do that _

_ Cas shudders in his arms, clenching down on his dick, spilling hot jizz onto his hand and Dean-not-Dean is coming again.  His hands let go of Cas, shoving him to the side and he’s standing and he’s asking a question and the answer is important and he knows what it’ll be _

“… Dean.”

_ He’s snarling and reaching towards Cas and _

GET OUT

* * *

 

The first thing Dean sees when he opens his eyes is the floor, and he feels like he got run over by a dump truck.  He picks himself up gingerly, how the fuck did he get here, where the fuck is here — and then he sees Cas staring blankly at the ceiling and he remembers.

He’s in the church.  Michael flew here.

He raped Cas.

He’s still covered in both their come and his dick is hanging out of his pants and he can smell blood and his stomach clenches and he heaves onto the cold floor.

He raped Cas.

He doesn’t even know if Cas is alive.  He scrambles over to check - God if he killed Cas - and Cas is still breathing but he’s not tracking at all.  Just… staring blankly at the ceiling.

“Cas?”  No answer.  “Cas come on, talk to me buddy.”

Nothing.

Dean starts gingerly checking him over, trying to see if there’s a sigil or a wound.  Cas’ breathing stutters when Dean tries to roll him and there’s a lot of blood coating the insides of his thighs, mixed with streaks of white that Dean can’t think about right now.

Maybe it’s shock, Dean can handle shock, get Cas warm and fluids, right?  Not that there’s any fluids here except the ones they’re covered in, and  _ focus Dean. _

_ A breathtaking tangle of light, cut to ribbons _

Dean swallows hard.  Shock. Treat it like shock.  He stumbles upright. His dick is still hanging out of his pants and if he had a knife right now he might actually cut the damn thing off, but for now he settles for wiping the come (and blood, an unhelpful part of his brain supplies) off and shoving everything into his pants.

He’s still wearing Michael’s overly dramatic coat, which should work much better than the shreds of Cas’ clothing for warmth.  He drapes it over Cas and goes to look for water. The taps in the bathroom still work and he finds a mostly clean flowerpot on the counter.  Cas mumbles something when Dean gently lifts his head from the floor and tries to get him to drink, but there’s still no one home.

Dean stares up at the dark ceiling, blinking hard.  They can’t stay here.

Cas had to drive here, right?  Check his pockets for keys. Dean tries to stand up but the world’s gone a bit fuzzy.  He settles for crawling over to where Michael threw Cas’ things and paws for the keys. He finds a phone instead.

_ Call Sam. _

His fingers feel funny.  He jabs a little too hard at the screen probably, but it dials.

_ Ring. _

_ Ring. _

“Cas?”

“Sammy.”  Dean’s voice cracks.

“Dean?  What happened, are you okay?”

“No.  No, I’m not okay, I-“  _ I raped Cas.  _  “Cas is hurt pretty bad, he won’t wake up Sammy.”

“Okay Dean, slow down.  Where are you guys?”

“The church.”

“Shit.  I’ll be there, just hang on.”

Dean wraps his arms around his legs and buries his face.  The world fades out for a while, blurring into a swirling buzz.


End file.
